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~ ATTENTION PLEASE!! ~ FRIENDS OF DJ POISON ~It Is In Sadness And With Deep Regret, I Must Inform You That Our Dear Friend DJ POISON Has Lost His Battle Due To Complications With Renal Failure. His Wife Has Said He Went Into Peace On Jan,26 2015, In His Sleep At Rest. No More Pain And Illness! May He Be DJ Master For The Lords Choir Forever!!♥I Know Many Of You Will Miss Him As Much As I Do.♥ MAY GOD REST HIS SOUL!! ~ ♥ Rick, I Love You My Friend!! ♥ ~~*Trouble Queen Of The Dark Angels*~
A Must Read!!
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Cranky Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!
Hunting for Peace. We will call it-Hunting Clover
I usually avoid this subject when I write things down for later, or speak of the past or pretty much whenever I am near my mother.
The Subject is, My child hood memory bank. But to complete this note or whatever this is that I do, I need the resources. I admit my memory bank is a bit low on funds at times. And I understand my Mothers frustration.
That lady devoted herself; I do mean Devoted her life to giving me the best life she could. Her best was better than I will ever be, but I am fairly certain I will never stop trying travel down the unbeaten path my momma chose for us to go. It let to a fortress and fields of hopes and dreams. My mom was the shield, between my life, and real life. Real life hurts sometimes, but in my life, hurts went away when mom held me or distracted me in the kitchen, showing me there are better things to waste time on than our worries. Like, cake.
My mother was Just that. MY MOTHER, cause I didn’t have to compete with anything in life for her love and devotion a single day of my sunshiney child hood. My mom made sure of that. But you see, this is what leads to this memory issue. When questioned about my childhood and my fondest memories, I have very few that stand out for me to share. This news discourages my mum, because she feels her devotion let her down. How could I not remember this or that, cause it was a huge deal back then. I see how she could feel. I get it.
I, however could never put into words how I could make it make sense, until now. As I find myself a bit lost and confused. I find myself sitting here with coffee and the pug watching My movie led by example, My Mother the leading role. It all comes to me, it makes perfect sense now. This should prove to her how successful she was. I remember vividly my childhood as a whole. Not the clips of good times most people have, but the whole reel of them. Unedited, a bit faded on the edges, but when I need it to find my way, the clear picture is all I see.
A movie made to be a Classic, my mom the writer, the director and the leading star, with little solo acts thrown in the making. The scenes are never quite the same when I rewind because the solo’s have many faces and many many names. Those scenes like the one I am about to share are brought on by countless things. A smell, a sound a sight, a feeling, an emotion. All of it then makes perfect “sense”.
It’s my favorite chick flick to have a romance with. When I need to figure out all of the little things I cling onto or do, that make me who I am today. When I need guidance in life as an adult, I go back, and watch how the ones before me did. I look at little me, and the things I observed and the lessons I was taught, that I was unable to process the meaning of, until I need to validate a feeling of today. Bottom line, when Im lost today, I hop in the snow globe of my past and shake it all up. Pull out that feeling that is guiding my emotions, and let it steer me.
And it ALWAYS brings me to now. And I always always find my way.
Right now, Im Hunting Clover. I actually hunt clover more than I realized until now. I remember when I learned how to hunt. Vividly. I remember how awesome I thought she was, she was the prettiest thing ever, with her sunkissed hair, fresh Florida tanned skin, wearing a faded fitted t shirt and faded blue jeans to match. Big back pockets and wide legs that ended at her brown shoes. Her aviators covering her eyes from the sun, that her smile out shined. I remember her voice, and the adoration it had when she spoke to me, but mostly I remember my Aunt Berta that day, teaching me a life lesson that I carry with me to this very moment, and have used my whole life. I didn’t realize the value of her lesson tho, until I got lost. And had to go back.
When I heard the overwhelming reality of numbered times I will FEEL her presence when our family gathers, or want to ask Aunt Berta a question, and have to find her and pull her head out of the clover to do it…Suddenly my thoughts stopped RIGHT THERE and panic washed over me. Clover! Who will I share my stories of the 497 4 leaf clovers I found over the summer with? SHE is the ONLY one out there who Really gets it. Gets me. Gets what hunting clover really means.
As soon as that thought processed, I then rode the wave of guilt. You just found out your Aunt has terminal liver cancer and all you can think of is stupid clover?? What about the pain and suffering she will….clover. who will I share….
Then, I wake up and am surrounded in a field of clover. The sun beating down on my pale white skin, my little 6 year old hands stuffed full of 4 leaf dreams. I say dreams cause those silly clover NEVER brought much luck. They still don’t. Cause if luck had anything to do with real life and 4 leaf clovers, my aunt I adore with all my heart, wouldn’t be fighting the battle for her life with….Clover.
I gaze up into the sun and see her silouhette. She was absolutely stunning, with the glow of her beauty shining down on me. I feel that sun right now, kissing me thru my window as I type. I smell the air and I FINALLY get it.
That day, my aunt showed me not only the art of spotting a 4 leafer 40 yards away but how to escape reality and just…dream. My aunt was like a dream that day I vividly remember, the way I watched her seek peace, or we call them clovers.
From that moment I was too young to understand fully but old enough to embrace the beauty in the lesson, I hunt clover. When life gets out of hand and I need to escape, I go soak up the sun, and aimlessly wonder around in the weeds, scanning the greenery for leafs of 4. I pick them, count them and always am excited to share with My Aunt, the number tally for the year. Like the numbers mattered? There isn’t a single time I have picked a clover, and not thought of My aunt. As a matter of fact, as things get easier and more convenient to share , I don’t even wait till “next time” to tell her. I take a picture of it BEFORE I pick it, to give her the chance to see it too. When you spot that clover, you feel like you have achieved SOMETHING. My aunt knows. That’s why I post the pictures.
Last summer, when she told me she could still see them but picking them was impossible. Her body wont allow, I began to pick them and save them for her, after I took a picture of it first. Piles of bloody green wilt, waiting to get some time with my aunt. I didn’t realize why I did something so silly until now. Its not silly. Its an unspoken understanding of what hunting clover really means.
This is so hard. So scary. So damn real. It hurts more than words can describe to know Im not going to have My Aunt Clover to hunt with anymore someday way too soon, I will be hunting alone. But you better bet I will never loose the ability to chase her dreams, and value the lesson that hides in 4 leaves. Peace is out there, in the middle of nowhere, with the sunshine painting a bulls eye on it. Its up to me, to go look for it.
And forever and always when I find it, I will think of My Aunt. And the way the sun kissed her skin, and how it felt to watch her. And how beautiful her silhouette Is in the sun, and know why that moment in time always stood still. I was going to need it someday.
Why was Clover the first thought to escape my head? It makes perfect sense now.
I no longer feel guilt, but rather…..peace. A warmth wash over me just like the one from the sun that day. She taught me well.
Even when you cant pick them things when you see them anymore, you never stop hunting clover. You never stop..dreaming.
Lessons my Beautiful Aunt, Is still teaching me.
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• Tue, Feb 25, 2014
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• Thu, Nov 14, 2013
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